Mother
by technicolor-werewolf
Summary: On the tenth anniversary of D-Day, The Boss' past, present, and future collide for both better and worse. She may have lost one son, but could it be possible for her to gain another? Oneshot, complete.


_June 6, 1954_

"Boss…Boss. Hey, Boss!"

The Boss blinked, drawing herself out of deep thought with some reluctance. If it had been anyone but Jack, she would have simply ignored them and continued her brooding, but…it was Jack. He needed to know that she was listening to him, and it was possible that this time it might even be something important.

It came to her attention as her conscious mind floated slowly to the surface that she was stirring a full cup of coffee, and had probably been continuously stirring it ever since she had sat down. Why she had been stirring it, she couldn't tell, since she drank it black – but no, there was a beat-up cardboard carton sitting right there, and the coffee looked like it had just had milk added. The Boss couldn't even remember getting any out of the refrigerator. Who had she been fixing coffee for, if not herself? Jack didn't use milk either, and the landlady drank only tea…Fear. The Fear refused to drink anything straight, and she had, for some reason, been making a cup of coffee for a man she had not so much as heard a word about in seven years.

_And so it begins_. "What is it, Jack?" she said, taking her hand off of the spoon and raising her eyes to the eager and bemused young man leaning on the other side of her tiny kitchen's table. God…he reminded her of a puppy sometimes. A Doberman Pinscher puppy, mind you, but a puppy nonetheless.

"They're doing a commemoration thing down at central," he said as he picked up the unmarked carton, shook it to ascertain how much was left, and then drained it casually, without even bothering to ask what was in it. "Urgh, that tastes terrible. I thought you didn't like milk, Boss?"

"I don't," she said. She must have asked the landlady for it…but she didn't remember that, either. "'Commemoration thing', hm?"

"Yeah, for the tenth anniversary of the invasion of Normandy. Making speeches and decorating veterans and all that. Didn't they invite you? I mean, you _had_ to have been there, weren't you?"

Oh. _That._ She'd received orders to attend, of course, and had promptly torn them to shreds. She looked down at the spoon in the coffee cup as it continued to circle idly with what momentum it had left. "Yes, they…_invited_ me. But I'm not going."

Jack gaped at her. "Not going? But come on, Boss, you're the best war hero they've got!"

"_They_ can all rot in hell." The Boss bit her tongue at the slip of loyalty, trying quickly to cover it up by letting out just a little of the anger pressing tightly on her chest. "Look, some things are better remembered without all that pomp and circumstance, Jack, and all the decorations and titles in the world don't bring back _people_." She looked back up and fixed him with a hard stare. "You're going to remember that, right?"

He nodded. "Y…yeah, Boss. I'll remember that." She could tell that right now, he didn't really understand what she was talking about –and that was good. Someday, when he had seen more of war, when enough time had passed for him to love and lose, he _would_…but she hoped that day would be a long time in coming. "Are we still going to train this afternoon?"

"No." The single syllable came out cold and hard. "I'll be busy."

Jack cocked his head to one side, looking like he wanted to question her but was thinking better of it. "…tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. Same time, same place. You know the drill." The Boss stood up and forced a smile onto her face, then leaned across the table and clapped her protégé on the shoulder. "Go on, Jack, or they'll be wondering where you are. You're young…go enjoy yourself while you still can."

"All right, Boss," he said obediently, still seeming a bit confused as he tossed the empty carton into the trash and stretched out his arms overhead. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yes, Jack. Tomorrow."

She went to the window with the useless cup of coffee and watched him go, first taking the stairs two at a time and then jumping the landing rail right to the ground just because he could. Yes, he was definitely a puppy now, but he'd make a fine full-grown hound in time. On the street below, the usual summer scene was playing itself out – children running and fighting under the morning sun, the occasional soldier's wife passing by on an errand or to take a toddler out for his daily walk…even being a war hero couldn't get her out of the family housing section, The Boss reflected moodily. Without the need to keep her lodged with a male unit, they still just wouldn't let a woman into the barracks. For the most part, she could accept her surroundings without letting them touch too deeply on that most intimate pain, but today was one of the days that everything always blurred together…with Jack gone, the past and the present were beginning to blend as seamlessly as if the last ten years had never passed at all. Even the cold coffee in her hand reminded her that she had only added the milk so that _somebody_ could drink it, since she had forgotten when she'd made it that coffee had made her so sick this whole pregnancy…but no, she wasn't pregnant, and she had been drinking black coffee perfectly well for ten years now; there was no reason to make it any other way. She must have already been half immersed in her memories when Jack came in earlier, and mistaken his step for The Fear's. He just _wouldn't_ stop practicing sneaking and jumping around this week, so it was probably a forgivable mistake…The Boss dumped the adulterated coffee out into the sink, attempting to work out for a minute where exactly the sewers here ended up. Everything went to the same enormous ocean eventually, didn't it, no matter where you were? It was the most strained connection she could think of, but a connection was a connection. Maybe someday the remains of the coffee would wash up on a shore not too far from where The Fear was, and he'd remember her without quite understanding why. Silly thought.

Did _any_ of them ever think of her? The Fury and The Sorrow were certainly her enemies now, and she didn't even know what had happened to The Pain and The Fear, but since they definitely weren't with the Americans, they were probably working against her too. And The End had probably died – how old would he be now…god, yes, he probably had. The Cobras had always joked that if one of them fell in battle, they were just going to haunt The Sorrow so that even death wouldn't split them up…but they had never really considered that the world would keep moving without them. The world had to be kept in balance somehow, and it seemed to have chosen her for the task.

The position of the sun caught her attention, and the annual calculations obediently performed themselves in her head. Right now it was around ten o'clock – sunset wasn't until eight – so she needed to cut two hours off the twelve-hour candle ready and waiting on the windowsill. She still kept a knife on her at all times, so that was that, and so…now, she only had to light it. Maybe she needed to stop doing this, she thought as she pulled out the drawer next to the sink, dug out a lighter, and flicked it open. Even if she only let her emotions out once a year, ten years was a long time to keep remembering…she had a new life now, didn't she? The Cobra Unit was gone. The Joy was over. She had no reasonable expectation of ever seeing…

The strong smell of naptha reached her nostrils, and The Boss realized that she'd left the lighter open and burning while she allowed herself to be lost in thought. She thought she'd broken herself of that habit – basic fire safety, and whatnot. Struck with a sudden memory of the worst accidental explosion she'd ever seen, she wondered how The Fury was getting along without her to remind him that he wasn't actually being as careful about open flames as he _thought_ he was – no, stop that, Joy, he will be _fine_ without you - _Oh, you're such a **mother**. Worrying about The Fear, The End, and now The **Fury**, as if they couldn't take care of themselves – and as if that were even any of your business? You're not The Joy anymore, you're The Boss, and you're not a unit anymore, you're all enemies. You've moved on, it's over, now get a grip on yourself. You spend the rest of the year pretending it never happened, so why not today too?_

A stubborn tear welled up in one of her eyes, and she lit the newly trimmed ten-hour candle in defiance of herself, snapped the lighter closed, and went to lock the door and unplug the telephone cable. No contact, today…she could even ignore that voice in her head telling her to let go of the past. Today was sacred.

She'd noticed small things creeping in as the years had passed – she supposed that was normal, as she seemed to be approaching the age at which most women started moaning about turning into their mothers. The Boss had either forgotten or forcibly repressed almost everything she knew about her mother, though; these were little habits and tics that she'd picked up from her old comrades. (Biting the ends off of cigars instead of cutting them, for example. Feeding birds with whatever happened to be in her pockets. And never, _ever_ whistling indoors.) Jack was just old enough to remind her of herself during the war…what was he going to pick up from _her_? _Probably nothing good, but at least he's got someone to pick things up** from**_, she thought. This was the one day of the year when she allowed herself to admit that she would actually have liked to have been a mother, if she had just been given the chance.

The Boss shook her head and returned to the kitchen, turning off the lights as she went so that the candle and the sun outside were the only light she had. She kept to the same ritual every year, watching the candle burn through the hours and mentally reliving what she sometimes thought of as the last day of her life; she'd done it so often that she was beginning to worry that some of the memories were inventions. The only thing she could still be certain of was that somewhere out there, not even knowing that his mother still kept this day, was a little boy who was about to turn ten years old but probably didn't even know it, _her child_ that she had lost…

She suddenly realized that she was doing that thing that The End had taught her again, where her hands took directions from the subconscious while her conscious was busy with something else, when she went to pick up what she thought was an empty coffee cup and found it full of tea instead. Yes, there was the kettle still steaming on the hot plate, and the sugar bowl open and the tin of tea as well, and – a second cup of tea. _One for me and one for you._ Her hand shook and splashed hot tea onto her fingers at the memories of how oddly comforting it had been, those first three years, to spend this day sitting with The Sorrow in absolute silence, not touching, not speaking – just watching whatever mismatched candles they could get their hands on melt to the very bottoms and burn themselves out, taking at least a little of their pain with them. She took both cups and sat down, ignoring both her scalded hand and the fact that she had no intention of drinking any of the tea at all. It was enough just to let it sit there and remind her that she hadn't always been this alone – today, if _only_ today, she was allowed that reminder.

The day passed slowly, but The Boss only left the kitchen table once or twice. There were the memories to deal with, of course, and the grief, and the anger, and the resentment, and the total lack of regret that sometimes made her feel a bit selfish. Much of the afternoon went by in watching a group of boys playing "cowboys and In'juns" on the sidewalk under her window and resisting the urge to open the window and yell down tactical advice to the cowboys, who were losing badly. They had one girl playing with them, but she had to be the Indians' prisoner and looked rather bored with it all, poor thing. _If **I** had a daughter_…The Boss let herself speculate freely for once, laughing and crying by turns.

By the time night began to fall, everything was put away and the candle was now in the center of the table, burning through its last hour faster and faster before her eyes. There was no longer any light but its guttering flame, the sun having passed behind the houses across the street ten minutes before – and from the looks of it, there was no point in allowing it to burn any longer. The Boss blinked softly so that her eyes cleared and the last of her tears rolled smoothly down her cheeks, and she took in a deep breath to calm herself back down. "Happy tenth birthday, Adamska," she whispered, pulling the candle a little closer. "I hope you're better off right now than you would be with me. Do me proud this year too, okay?" She blew out the flame and let the smoke and the dark linger around her. The day was over…she didn't have to remember anymore; she could push it back down and let it go again. Slowly, things began to readjust in her mind. The war was over. The Cobra Unit was gone…she was _The Boss_…

Suddenly, a light came on out in the hall, and she snapped into her primary defensive position and began to creep through the darkened kitchen towards the partly-open door to the entranceway. Somehow, her perimeter had been breached – intruder detected – reaching the opposite wall, she pinpointed her surprise visitor's location by a slight rustling noise near the coathook. One swift movement through the doorway and a few choice CQC moves were perfectly sufficient to neutralize the…_Jack?!_

"Boss!" Jack yelped, apparently too shocked to struggle against her hold. "I didn't know you were here!"

"I told you I was busy!" she said, letting his feet come back to the floor but not letting go of her grip on the front of his jacket. "How did you even get in here? That front door has more booby traps than the _Treasury!_" She didn't even remember giving him the key, for crying out loud!

"I know, Boss…I helped you install them," he said nervously. "They're all easy to disable from the outside if you know what you're doing, in case of emergency, remember? And, uh…I guess I just plain picked the lock."

"_Both_ of them?" she said, glaring at the guilty-looking young man still pinned against the wall, who nodded slightly. God, she was so proud of him. Annoyed, yes, but proud. "Does privacy mean nothing these days?"

"I really thought you weren't here," he said, chastened. "All the lights were out, and you said you were busy…and after everything you said about medals not bringing back people, I figured you were off at Arlington, or…y'know. Something like that."

Well, at least he'd been _listening_. The Boss looked over toward the door to take a look at what he'd dropped when she'd first caught his arms – it looked like just about everything he owned, stuffed in a duffel bag. She sighed. "_Jack_…what were you doing sneaking in here at this hour with all _that_?"

"Well, uh…" Jack shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "…Boss, do you mind if I stay here for a while?"

She fixed a _look_ on him. "Don't you have your own housing assigned to you?" Oh, no…she knew that guilty look on his face… "_What did you do, John._"

"It wasn't me!" he pleaded, knowing he was in trouble now. "It was my roommate, I swear…he snuck in his girl friend, and all I did was ask if they were planning to let me have my half of the bedroom back anytime soon, and…and he hit me first, honest!"

The Boss shook her head. "And then you floored him with CQC, didn't you?"

He nodded guiltily. "And then _she_ knocked me over the head with her bag, and after we both came to, he kicked me out without my key."

"We've already established that you pick locks, John," she said wryly.

He blushed. "Yeah, but I don't want to have to share with _both_ of them! Please, Boss? Just until someone notices and kicks her out?"

The Boss looked at him thoughtfully, letting her expression fade to neutral. Having a kid in the house…well, at nineteen, Jack was hardly a _kid_, but he still seemed to think of her like his mother sometimes. And to tell the truth, she practically thought of him like her son. He was _almost_ young enough, and god knew she felt old enough…

"Boss?" Jack said, squirming uneasily in her grip. Oh, there she went again, letting herself get lost in thought while she had more important things to take care of.

She let go of his shoulders and hugged him tightly, taking the young man completely by surprise. "Of course you can stay with me, Jack," she said, shaking her head as she drew back with a slight smile. "You're obviously determined enough to make the question moot, and I've been saying for years that this place is too big for just me. Go stash your gear in the spare bedroom and I'll thaw something out for dinner, all right? You look like you've been living on Twinkies and French fries, and after all that radiation…"

"I know, I know, Basic Seven, three squares a day, eat my spinach and all that," Jack said with a slight grin. He looked relieved at the return to something approaching their normal interactions. "You worry too much, Boss."

"Just go before I change my mind," The Boss said, cuffing him gently on the shoulder. Yeah, it would be good for both of them to have him around more. She was probably going to regret it later, when he would inevitably become another in the long line of sacrifices that duty required her to make…but had knowing that ever stopped her before? She gave her all to everything she did, and that was just how it was. Maybe there was a little of The Joy still left in her, after all these years. The Boss handed Jack his duffel bag and returned to the kitchen, turning the light back on as she went…_Eat my spinach_, huh? Hmm…she seemed to remember a TV Dinner or two in the freezer with spinach for the vegetable. (Let it never be said that The Boss had no sense of humor, whether she chose to show it to the public or not.) She scraped the last of the candle wax into the trash, sending the searing pain of the day with it. Onward and upward, Boss.

Onward and upward.


End file.
